


Still One Would Want More

by theravenwrites



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1247818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theravenwrites/pseuds/theravenwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen years after he was forced to leave Camelot under less than auspicious circumstances, King Arthur has requested Merlin's presence at court. Now fully grown into his powers, Merlin knows, or thinks he knows, what the future holds but it pales against the conflicting present confronting him at Camelot. AU WIP</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still One Would Want More

When Arthur sends knights to canvass the county looking for him, Merlin is not surprised. He’s known for weeks, now, that Uther is dead and Arthur is King. The King is dead; long live the King. Merlin’s powers of premonition are not so precise, however, to tell him exactly when the Knights (are they of the Round Table? Has that happened yet?) will arrive, so he decides not to inconvenience himself and is out in the field, looking for some herbs when two ride up. 

The two young men look dirty and tired, and Merlin remembers that for most people it is a long hard ride between his new home and Camelot. A large part of its attractiveness is this distance.

“So, it’s that time?” Merlin asks, going for lighthearted, but either these Knights have had any vestige of a sense of humor surgically removed, as they look at him, stony-eyed from under their helms, or Merlin’s own has gone a bit wonky after living alone for all these years. Probably the latter.

Merlin invites the Knights back to his house, a glorified one-room cottage, and gives them food and time to bathe, as that seems to be the thing to do, although Merlin will be the first to admit his hospitality has gotten a little rusty. Merlin carefully avoids looking too closely at the Knights in case they are giving each other bewildered glances from his odd type of courtesy.

Inside, it is dim after the bright midmorning summer light and smells faintly of a variety of different kinds of herbs. Merlin’s falcon, who doesn’t officially have a name besides Bird, but secretly (but is it really a secret when you have no one to keep it from?) Merlin calls him Merlin—his own little joke—perches on his shoulder, flexing his talons. Merlin long ago gave up trying to stop Bird from doing this, and instead is resigned to having a shoulder specked with little white (whiter than the rest of his skin, even), scars.

Merlin idly strokes Bird as he considers how, and what, to pack. Some things, his most sensitive ingredients and tools, must be handled carefully, but for the rest, Merlin simply waves a hand to make his few clothes and books whisk themselves into the trunk at the foot of his bed.

He can hear the Knights outside splashing and laughing. They look so young, and it is odd for Merlin to realize that he was even younger when he first arrived at Camelot. Paradoxically, he doesn’t consider himself to be old, now. Yes, he gets stiff and sore after a day spent hoeing his garden, but surely that is nothing. 

In general, Merlin finds that his concept of time seems to be unraveling. He no longer pays attention to which days come in succession to each other, leaving it for the important landmark days, like that of Uther’s death, to stick out in his mind and keep him on track.

Merlin is setting the last vial inside a lambskin pouch when one of the Knights appears in the doorway. He does not enter, and the setting sun turns him into a silhouette. Merlin turns and squints at him, waiting. He wonders if he should try to engage the Knights in conversation, even though he can think of nothing appropriate to say. He can’t very well talk to them about his latest adventures with a mandrake root, can he?

“Wizard,” the Knight says, and Merlin wonders at his tone, which is both hesitant and deferential, before thinking that this is probably the first time he’s spoken to a known practitioner of magic. And one powerful enough to be the King’s Magician.

“We will sleep outside. Be ready to leave at first light.”

Merlin nods. “Do you have need of anything?” The Knight shakes his head. “I will see you in Camelot, then.”

The Knight begins to ask a question, but Merlin cannot be bothered to wait and explain himself. The Knights should be able to figure it out for themselves, or else they deserve to be confused. The fact that he keeps no horse and nothing besides a hand-drawn cart should give them a clue. If it doesn’t, Merlin thinks he will have more proof that too many blows to the head do dull the wits.

One aspect of being a creature of magic that Merlin has long appreciated is his right to by Mysterious. He used to hate it when the Dragon would act that way, but that was before he earned the right to act that way himself. 

There is a brief, disconcerting moment of darkness and the feeling of being buffeted by strong, although not unfriendly, winds, before Merlin and his things appear in Gaius’ old rooms, much to the surprise of a maid. She screams and drops the bedclothes she was preparing as she runs out of the room. The sheets take a few more seconds to settle to the floor after she is gone. Merlin smiles to himself. He appreciates a good entrance.

Bird flies out the window in a flutter of wings as Merlin begins to unpack. He plans to use his old bedroom as a place to store drying herbs, and he will now occupy Gaius’ room. The main room will remain much the same, a disorganized (Merlin has completely failed to grow more orderly and efficient with age, something that many people accurately predicted), space filled with books and, now, magical works openly in progress. 

Gaius has been dead for years, Merlin knows this, but it is still distracting and unsettling to see these rooms bare of him. Merlin half expects to see Gaius walk into the room to scold him for being careless or idiotic. Merlin thinks he could still use someone to tell him these things. Being grown has not helped him much to mature, although his knowledge of the future has a definite sobering effect.

By the time Merlin has the rooms halfway to his liking—he had to keep pausing to summon forgotten things from his cottage—he hopes the fwoomph! sound of them disappearing doesn’t scare the knights too much—the sun is setting and Bird has flown back into the room to perch atop a bookcase. Merlin turns his head to see Arthur regarding him from the doorway. He wonders how long he’s been there.

Straightening, Merlin looks steadily at his King. “Sire.”

Arthur now has a closely cropped beard, the hairs shining a little copper in the torchlight. He is taller tan he was, and even broader in the shoulder, although it looks as though Merlin is the taller of the two by a good inch.

“You couldn’t pretend to wait for my summons?” Arthur asks, without so much as a Hello, Merlin, how have you been in the fifteen years since I saw you last? Not that Merlin was really expecting that. He understands. 

He understands why Arthur keeps a table between them, even as he walks into the room (the first person to voluntarily share a room with Merlin in a long time. Almost fifteen years, to be exact). He understands why there seems to be something utterly fascinating just to the right of Merlin’s head that Arthur is staring at. He understands because he is keeping the table between them as well, and he has found Arthur’s crown easier to look at than his eyes.

“I did wait for them. I am not so powerful that I can predict with absolute precision when you will call for me. I just decided to spare myself the trouble of the journey once your Knights had come for me.” Merlin keeps his tone light.

“And you took the liberty of taking Gaius’ old rooms for yourself as well, when I had thought maybe the stocks might be more appropriate…”

Arthur catches Merlin’s eye for a split second, the very hint of a smile at the edges of his mouth. Merlin feels like it is his first days at Camelot all over again, when Arthur was just beginning to show his true self in bits and pieces. But it is too much to ask for Arthur’s complete trust again. Merlin doesn’t know if he can give Arthur his complete trust, either; although his life is without question still Arthur’s.

Arthur breaks the silence before it becomes awkward by saying, “Gaius always hoped to see you again before he died.”

“He did,” Merlin responds without thinking. Arthur is staring at him again, and Merlin wonders if his expression is anger, surprise, or comprehension. He wonders how much Arthur knows.

Before Merlin can further incriminate himself or Arthur can regret his decision to call Merlin back, they are interrupted by Merlin’s name being yelled in the hallway, accompanied by the sound of someone running. Then Gwen—Queen Guinevere—is rocketing into the room, and plows into Merlin’s chest. Arthur watches their meeting with lowered eyes.

“Gwen!” Merlin says, and returns her embrace enthusiastically. This is one reunion he has been looking forward to ever since he first left. Gwen, underneath all the royal finery, looks much the same, still radiant and determinedly cheerful. She is speaking excitedly to him, but Merlin can’t quite attend to her words because this is proof, she is proof, that Arthur is no longer just his.

The King’s Crown, yes, that is another sign, but Merlin long ago resigned himself to it, back when he didn’t know what would come to pass and hoped for a brighter future for them both.

Soon, Arthur and Gwen leave him to finish unpacking, which he does, losing himself in finding exactly the right place for this tincture, and that flask so that he doesn’t have to think about what his life will be like now. His time alone in the cottage was just a respite, and now his destiny is here for the rest of his (immortal) life.

A liveried servant interrupts Merlin to collect him for dinner. Merlin pulls on his second-best set of clothes: dark breeches and a bright blue tunic, a shade that he has been told sets off his eyes.

Merlin thinks that there will be no big announcement of his new position in Arthur’s household, and he is correct. He is led to a seat at the High Table, but far from Arthur and Gwen. A Knight sits on his either side.

Looking around, Merlin doesn’t recognize most of the people here, and he is suddenly struck by homesickness for his cottage, where he was never a stranger. How has Camelot changed so completely? 

Gwen catches his eye, and they hold a silly conversation of wry looks and smiles, reminiscent of their time waiting on these tables, that occupies him through the meal and gives him an excuse to watch Arthur.

Arthur is charming and regal, no surprise there. Merlin watches hungrily to see his old friend, to refamiliarize himself with his every movement. He cannot deny himself this, and even though he knows that he will only take part in Arthur’s great destiny in an official manner, even though he knows that he will spend the rest of his life—the rest of Camelot, at any rate—watching Arthur from afar, he is desperate for the little bits and pieces of Arthur that he can have. And if that includes watching Arthur and Gwen be in love, then so be it.

The meal is over before Merlin registers the food that passed his lips. He had grown indifferent to eating, living by himself. His own cooking was passable, when he remembered to do it. There had been days at a time when he had subsisted solely on hunks of bread and cheese because he was too wrapped up in unraveling his latest experiment. 

If there was one thing Merlin took joy in during his confinement, it was his freedom to learn about himself and his abilities. He was able to lose vast amounts of time doing this, and now he is much more powerful than he thinks even Arthur realizes.

Merlin walks alone to his quarters where he changes into worn clothes. He needs to see the Dragon. He knows that the Dragon will be awaiting him, as it, too, is in touch with the major events that have been passing. Merlin does not know how their encounter will go, as he didn’t wind up embracing his Destiny with the same cheerfulness as he did in the beginning, and he thinks that the Dragon resents that loss of control.

This time, Merlin strides confidently down to the bowls of the castle, no longer skulking and hiding. He wonders if he should expect guards or not. He was sure that Arthur knew of the Dragon, because it would be a terrible failing if a King did not know of a magical creature in his own basement, and Arthur has not failed yet. Arthur’s reaction, however, to having a magical creature in his own basement, was the interesting thing.

There are no guards. Merlin allows himself to be a little proud of Arthur as he takes a torch from the wall and enters the cave. The Dragon is waiting for him at its old ledge, eyes (and teeth and claws, for that matter), glittering in the torchlight.

“Hello again, Young Merlin.”

The warm greetings Merlin had been about to extend die on his lips. “Young?” he coughs, incredulous. He had been expecting a meeting of equals, not a return to the Dragon’s Mysterious haughtiness. He’d always thought magical creatures dropped the Mysterious act when it was just them.

The Dragon gives him a Look. “You have many more centuries to go before you are no longer young to me.”

Merlin sighs and lets his protestations go because he knows this is true, knows that there will be a day when both he and the Dragon are so old that it no longer matters. Still, he takes the Dragon’s words as confirmation that there will be the distance of professionals between them, now. They are no longer tutor and pupil.

“I will have an audience with Arthur tomorrow to ask to set you free,” Merlin says seriously. “And if he refuses, I will do it anyway.”

The Dragon smiles (enigmatically). “Give King Arthur a chance to prove the King that he has become.”

Merlin looks down, aware that he is judging Arthur harshly. For all his confused thoughts and feelings on returning to Camelot, he has assumed that Arthur is still the boy that he was when Merlin left.

“I will try.”

The Dragon regards Merlin enigmatically some more. Merlin ducks his head to hide the annoyance he is feeling at the Dragon’s airs. 

“Do not think you know all that will come to pass,” the Dragon intones before flying away into the darkness.

“Great conversationalist, that one,” Merlin says as he watches the Dragon disappear. The Dragon certainly hasn’t changed. Still, it had been nice to see it again, to be reminded that there are other magical beings in the world. 

Merlin decides not to worry about the Dragon’s parting words. He will understand them when circumstances make them clear, and not before.

Merlin makes his way back to his rooms slowly. The long day is catching up with him. Once back in his rooms, Merlin throws himself onto his bed, barely recognizing that the maid must have been enticed to return, as it is now fully made.

~~~

Unlike Merlin, Arthur does not drop off to sleep for a long time. This is a recurring problem. He often tries to ignore it by staying awake working on problems of state until the point of exhaustion, when sleep overtakes him, and he wakes up still at his desk with enough pain in his back and neck to remind him that he is not as young as he likes to pretend he is.

This night, Arthur stares at the canopy of his bed doing his level best not to think of Merlin’s return and failing miserably. The fact that Merlin returned several days before Arthur had planned throws him considerably. He’d thought, mistakenly, obviously, that Merlin would come only when called, and by banking on that, Arthur had thought he could manage the situation.

Arthur tosses restlessly, kicking off his sheets and punching his pillow into submission. His bed is large, too large for one person, but Gwen has never shared it. She sleeps in the Queen’s apartments, and Arthur visits her dutifully about once a week. He is never sure what Gwen feels for him, but he makes sure she enjoys his ministrations. He can still do that, although he finds little enjoyment in their couplings for himself.

Instead, Arthur wishes someone completely different was sharing his bed.

Bewildered as he is by Merlin’s whirlwind return, Arthur is fixating on the night two days before Gaius’ death. Throughout Gaius’ illness, Arthur had frequently sat by the old doctor’s bedside, drawn by his ramblings, which were more often than not on the subject of Merlin and the future. After Merlin’s so-called disappearance, Gaius, in his fever induced babbling, was the only one who still talked of him.

Gaius repeatedly called Arthur Uther, and said things such as “do not let Arthur hear of this,” before talking of a great destiny. Arthur always assured Gaius that he wouldn’t let himself know before listening avidly. Gaius explained so much about his own life that he’d never known, about everything Merlin was, more than he’d ever realized, and all the things Merlin had done for him in spite of Uther’s strictures.

Arthur could not bring himself to address his anger to his father as the man was so clearly upset by Gaius’ failing health. It would have made no matter, in the long run. Their differences had been set in stone a long time ago, but it was learning the full extent of what had happened that first made Arthur honestly consider changing.

Then, Arthur had convinced himself that it was listening to Gaius so much that had caused him to imagine that Merlin had come to him in the night, but now, Arthur cannot deny the truth of what occurred. Merlin’s startled expression after his candid admission, and guilty, averted eyes constantly replay behind Arthur’s lids.

What Arthur remembers when he thinks of Merlin is this: he had gone to sleep as usual, back when he fell asleep easily and slept without dreaming. There was nothing to mark the evening as auspicious or unusual except the growing certainty that Gaius’ time was drawing near. 

It was like a dream, really, and that’s what Arthur had thought it was. Just a particularly persistent dream that he couldn’t forget, even though he usually never remembered anything upon waking (that is no longer the case. Now, Arthur awakes knowing that he dreamt of the downfall of Camelot. That is, if he slept at all).

Arthur was drawn from sleep gently, by a quiet voice murmuring his name and a hand on his cheek. He can still feel the pad of a thumb on his lips, warm and soft. He thinks he lightly kissed this thumb, testing, tasting, before it was replaced by a mouth for the briefest of moments. Disoriented, Arthur opened his eyes in time to see Merlin pull away, his eyes a flash of gold in the darkness before he was gone.

Arthur sat up and licked his lips. In that instant, he knew exactly what had transpired, and instead of feeling angry or betrayed, he unguardedly felt a strong sense of loss that had him on the verge of tears. It was a long time before he fell back asleep. In the morning, Arthur told himself that it had all been an extremely vivid dream, but he couldn’t forget the feeling of Merlin’s lips on his own.

Now, Arthur lies on his back, achingly hard. He longs for release, but the thought of taking himself in hand is so unappealing, he simply lies there and continues to torture himself by thinking of Merlin.

~~~ 

Gwen is not sleeping, either. She is curled up on her side, staring into the darkness.

She knows what the return of Merlin is to Arthur, even though he thinks her unaware. But how could she ignore what the two of them were to each other? She feels more alone than ever. Morgana, her only true friend and confidante has been gone for years, in both presence and wits, and she knows Merlin and Arthur will turn from her too, orbiting only each other.

Gwen knows that she never truly loved Merlin or even Arthur, not like she loves Lancelot. Yes, she was giddy with happiness when she became Queen, but that was nothing, and she has known it in the back of her mind all along. Arthur has always been good to her, but she cannot deny the truth of their marriage.

Gwen allows herself one tear of self-pity to roll down her cheek before she vows to help Arthur and Merlin overcome their own stupidity. She is used to putting her own wants and needs behind those of others’.

Just before she falls asleep, her new resolution calming her, the unbidden thought that Lancelot will be returning to Camelot soon comes to her mind. This is both a relief and a further cause to worry.

~~~

Merlin awakes feeling refreshed and ready to accomplish things. He is lying tangled in the sheets on his stomach, his head directly in a bright swath of sunlight that is streaming in from the open window. From the angle he can tell that most of the morning has already passed, but Merlin knows he needed the rest. He has not built up the stamina for doing a lot of magical works at a time, yet, and moving to Camelot, then rushing around for the rest of the day, took a lot out of him. He stays lying in bed, blinking in the bright light, enjoying the relaxed and comfortable feeling in all his limbs, considering what he will do for the day. 

He knows that today, at least, he needs to talk to Arthur about the Dragon, then release the Dragon, but beyond that he’s not sure what the King’s Magician does. He supposes he will just explore magic as he did in his cottage and wait for things to turn up. Something always turns up, as his first life in Camelot showed very clearly. Gaius always seemed busy at any rate, and he was only (officially) practicing science and medicine. 

Breakfast is waiting for him in the main room when Merlin wanders in, still dressed in his nightclothes. Merlin’s stomach growls loudly, and he is glad that there is no one to hear. He sits down at the table and eats sloppily as he sorts through some of the papers he left on the table from the day before.

Bird swoops in through a window and lands on Merlin’s shoulder. Absently, Merlin offers him some sausage, which Bird takes delicately in his beak. When he is done eating, Bird preens.

Later, after Merlin has changed and considered ordering new clothes from the castle tailor, Merlin finds Arthur holding audiences in the Main Hall. Merlin enters through a back door and walks up to Arthur’s throne from behind, feeling silly in front of all these people, partly because he should have guessed earlier that Arthur would keep this particular habit of Uther’s.

Arthur is seeing a case between two Knights, something about their lands and tithes and other technical issues that Merlin wouldn’t have a hope of understanding. Arthur turns his head when he notices Merlin’s approach, and orders “Bolingbroke, see that this matter is settled to the satisfaction of all involved,” before beckoning Merlin over.

Merlin steps close to the throne and gives a jerky little bow. He’s never been too concerned about propriety in Arthur’s presence before, but now they are in public, and Arthur is King. Their impromptu meeting in his quarters the day before will not be the norm, he is sure.

Arthur smirks, and it is the same. Merlin feels his cheeks heat slightly. “That was pathetic,” Arthur says. “I should make you practice.”

“You could do that, Sire, although I think you’ll find it less satisfying now that I am no longer your manservant,” Merlin answers boldly. He feels almost lightheaded; this is not how his interview with King Arthur was supposed to go.

The reminder of the current state of affairs sobers Arthur and he sits up straighter. “I am glad you came to find me. I was thinking of requiring you to be available for these audiences. Now that magic has reentered the realm, people are bound to come to me with problems with it, and we will need an expert on the subject to ensure sound judgment.”

Merlin cannot help the face he pulls at hearing that he will have to sit for these interminable audiences. They are usually dull beyond belief, and a part of him thinks Arthur mostly wants him there to suffer alongside him. 

“I understand, Sire.”

Arthur’s always-mobile lips twitch slightly at the word “sire,” and he looks uncomfortable with Merlin’s formality. Still, he accepts it.

“What did you want, Merlin?” he asks, his countenance returned to neutral.

Merlin casts a quick glance at the courtiers standing in the room. They are, of course, watching him and Arthur, even though they pretend not to. Merlin lowers his voice.

“I wished to speak to you of the Dragon.”

Arthur’s mouth tightens into a grim line. He nods, once. “I will come see you when I am done here.”

Nodding in return, Merlin takes his leave. He understands the need for privacy on this subject.  
~~~

These days, Merlin loses track of time easily. He’s deep in researching a spell when Arthur knocks on his door, and there’s a brief moment of confusion during which he wonders when he is. He’s used to this, now, and only blinks at Arthur as he walks in and tells himself that he has only just returned to Camelot and Arthur has not even created the Round Table yet.

“Come in,” Merlin calls, a little belatedly. He half rises as Arthur walks in, shutting the door behind him, awkwardly swamped by piles of parchment and books.

Arthur says nothing at first, merely looks around at the obvious signs of sorcery that Merlin has spread around the room now that he has unpacked. Merlin watches him, frozen. 

Finally, after an agonizing eternity, Arthur turns back to Merlin. He still seems on edge, remote, but he is willing to discuss this, and that is what matters. Merlin wets his lips. He doesn’t know what to expect, and he is already torn between his intention to always follow Arthur, and his promise to free the Dragon.

“You wish to set the Dragon free.” Arthur isn’t looking Merlin in the eye, and is instead watching Bird’s every movement on the back of Merlin’s chair.

“Ye-es,” Merlin says.

“How do I know that the Dragon will not immediately lay waste to Camelot? After all, my father has had it locked up for decades.”

“I think that the Dragon cares equally for its freedom and Camelot. It wants Camelot to be great just as you or I do.”

“Can you say this with certainty? Do you trust it?”

Merlin considers his answer. He trusts the Dragon in certain ways. He trusts that the Dragon will do everything in its power to guide Arthur on the path of his destiny, but whether its actions in that pursuit will follow Arthur’s idea of morality is another question.

“It would be prudent to remember that the Dragon is not human.”

“That is not very reassuring,” Arthur comments, starting to frown.

“Arthur, believe me when I say that the Dragon will do nothing to harm Camelot. All I mean is that its actions are not always understandable to us.”

There is a pause, and Merlin can almost hear Arthur wondering if he can even trust Merlin. Yes, Arthur called him back to Camelot, but Merlin knows that there is something to be said for having the most powerful sorcerer where you can keep an eye on him.

Almost like vertigo, Merlin realizes that he doesn’t know what Arthur will decide. He has grown used to being sure of the future, even though he mostly thinks of it as an unwanted burden. He knows that the Dragon will be free, but not how and the particulars seem more important than ever.

“Exactly what is the nature of your relationship with the Dragon?”

Merlin shifts in his seat and looks down. He knew this question was only a matter of time, but that doesn’t make him more anxious to answer it. When he left Camelot, it was in a blur of emotion and betrayal, and he never fully explained himself. With Arthur in front of him, attempting to be Kingly and impersonal, the fifteen years seem like nothing.

“Once, it was… an advisor, perhaps even a mentor, in my awakening to our—” Merlin stops himself, the word destiny on the tip of his tongue. He stutters as he starts again, “my powers and abilities. We have had our disagreements, it is true, but ultimately the Dragon is a supporter of Camelot.”

Arthur nods, not seeming to have noticed Merlin’s slip.

“Have you spoken to the Dragon, Sire?”

In lieu of a real answer, Arthur remarks, “I see someone finally taught you to say that word without sounding sarcastic.”

Merlin shrugs, grinning a little in spite of himself. “I always meant it, I think I just thought you could learn a little humility.”

The awkward pauses that seem to dog every conversation they have make an appearance and Merlin could curse himself for his words. It is just that it is Arthur, and everything says that things should be easy between them, but they are not. They really are not.

Arthur turns on his heel to go, and Merlin’s heart sinks. He hasn’t been in Camelot a full two days and he’s already bollocksed things up. 

But instead of storming out the door, Arthur tosses a look over his shoulder and says, “Let us have a meeting with the Dragon, then.”

Shedding rolls of parchment, Merlin scrambles after Arthur, feeling just as gangly and clumsy as he did fifteen years ago. Somehow Arthur, always graceful, has grown into his King’s body naturally, but Merlin thinks he will always feel slightly at odds with the rest of the physical world.

The cave seems darker and bigger than ever before, and Merlin wonders if Arthur can hear his heart pounding, while Arthur wonders the same thing. The Dragon seems to take forever to appear, and then to settle. Merlin fidgets until Arthur gives him a sharp glance. Then he just fidgets less noticeably.

“King Arthur,” the Dragon says and bows his head deeply.

Arthur starts, but bows back. “Dragon.” 

Merlin is suddenly afraid that the Dragon will embarrass him with the “Two sides of the same coin,” talk, which would be really inappropriate right now, when they are barely speaking, and Arthur knows nothing of what is to come. He feels giddy and out of sorts.

“So you have come to judge whether or not I am to be set free.” Merlin thinks that the Dragon is being unusually direct today.

“You must be very angry at my family for keeping you here against your will.”

“I care nothing for revenge, only my freedom. Dragons know what it is to be a part of something larger. There are more important things at stake than my recompenses.”

“It is not my desire to be the King my father was, and I wish to be the friend of the creatures of magic. I will agree to set you free on the condition that you will never take action against Camelot.”

“With pleasure, my lord.”

“Then it is with great pleasure that I am able to allow you to go free from here.”

Arthur turns to Merlin expectantly, and Merlin says, “Oh! Er, um, yes,” and without thinking too much, sends bolts of pure magic to the Dragon’s chains. The Dragon shakes himself free and the irons clatter and clang their way down into the abyss.

The Dragon gives Merlin a speculative glance. “Not exactly the finesse I had hoped for, but it will do. Thank you, King, for your benevolence.”

Arthur bows again, and then the Dragon is launching into the air. Supposedly the Dragon knows another exit.

As the Dragon disappears from sight, his voice floats down: “You would be wise to remember that a grand beach is made of many grains of sand.”

Arthur turns to Merlin and asks, “Is the Dragon always so obtuse?”

Merlin huffs out a laugh as he answers, “Yes. Usually worse, with only one coherent sentence in ten.”

They walk back to the light, shoulder to shoulder, and Merlin thinks that if it could just be like this forever, the two of them working side by side, he would be happy. But of course he knows it will not.

When they reach the castle proper, Arthur walks his own way without a backward glance, and Merlin goes alone back to his tower.

Dinner is another lonely affair, but this time Merlin feels more comfortable with his solitude and less like he is alone in a crowd. In some ways he enjoys the slightly awed avoidance of the people around him. It seems that word of his arrival has spread through the whole castle now.

Merlin worries briefly that he no longer has a strong connection with the regular people of Camelot, but he hopes that his attachment to Arthur will be enough, and anyway, he supports the people as a whole. There’s not much he can do about being separate from the majority when they see him as a sorcerer first and a person probably not at all.

Gwen comes to visit him after the meal, and Merlin is pathetically grateful for her presence. Being in the castle after so many years alone has been a baffling experience of being surrounded by people but not really in contact with any of them. Gwen is a relieving mixture of sympathy and companionship.

Of course, as with everyone else, there are things they cannot discuss. Merlin never makes mention of the fact that Gwen is now Queen Guinevere, although it is there in every moment, and Gwen never asks Merlin for the story of why he left. Instead, Gwen informs Merlin of the fates of all their old friends.

“Larissa is now head cook,” Gwen says between picking at the grapes on the plate of food she brought with her.

Merlin laughs, incredulous. “That cannot be! She was the worst undercook in the entire history of Camelot!”

Gwen covers her mouth as she laughs most unladylike. “I agree! She managed to burn water on several occasions. It is said that she only received the position for some attentions that she paid to the old cook, but she has proven herself to be perfectly adequate.”

Gwen can never allow anyone to be completely petty or shallow, although in Merlin’s experience, people are usually a surprising combination of mean and noble virtues. Larissa was just the type of girl to use her good looks to further her ambitions, but if she is a good cook, then Merlin cannot take issue with her actions. Certainly the last few meals he has experienced at Camelot were excellent.

“Whatever happened to old Brooks, the Ferrier?” Merlin asks.

“Well, after his beloved Thunder died—“

“You mean the horse that would bight anything that moved except Brooks himself? The one that once bit Uther—“

And here they dissolve into helpless peals of laughter until their sides ache. Merlin slumps back into his chair to catch his breath as Gwen drinks from the tankard of water. Merlin smiles helplessly at her, truly happy in the bursting with it way for the first time in too long. 

They spend the rest of this evening in this manner, their loud guffaws audible in the hallway, and many a passing person gives the King’s Magician’s rooms an odd look.

~~~

The next day, Merlin sits through his first meeting of the council. It isn’t a terribly auspicious one, starting with Merlin not realizing that his attendance was even required. He is happily occupied cataloging his various supplies in Gaius’ old rooms when a hesitant knock interrupts him.

“Enter,” Merlin calls, not looking up.

A page edges into the room, staring around with wide eyes. Merlin looks up at him expectantly.

“Um, His Highness requests your presence in the Council Room,” the page says, darting looks at Merlin to gauge his reaction. “Fifteen minutes ago.”

Merlin briefly entertains the idea of going back to fifteen minutes ago, but dismisses it on the grounds that he gets confused enough with timelines already, even without any mucking about. But the thought of Arthur’s annoyance is amusing.

With the page pattering down the halls after him, Merlin strides quickly to the Council Room, not quite sure what to expect. He doesn’t really know why Arthur wanted to meet him there, of all places.

Upon walking into the room to see all of Uther’s old advisors deep in heated discussion over something mind-numbingly dull, Merlin freezes so quickly he almost trips himself. Arthur is glaring at him over the white heads of the advisors, who aren’t paying Merlin any attention in the least. Merlin meekly sits down at the far end of the table, between two especially ancient and dull men.

As he sits, he thinks, Of course. He is, after all, the King’s Magician, and such a position brings with it certain responsibilities. At first he tries to pay attention, but the Council is discussing crops, and he can’t see why this would concern him at all, so he allows his mind to wander. Somehow, when he saw the future, he never saw how much boredom would be involved.

Merlin is just mentally putting the finishing touches on a new spell he wants to try out when the doors to the Council Room burst open and the hassled page from before enters, quickly followed by two knights. 

The knights look travel-weary and a little desperate. They brush past the poor page and bend down to Arthur’s ear, their voices mingling and raising despite their obvious wish for subtlety. Merlin is just thinking they could almost look familiar when Arthur looks directly at him. It’s more of a glare, really. The force of Arthur’s gaze is strong despite the fact that the table is long and they are far apart. The knights slowly straighten, also glaring. One is even gripping his sword in a meaningful way.

Merlin fights to control his natural blush as he realizes these must be the knights he’d left behind, the knights Arthur had sent to fetch him. Arthur continues to lock eyes with Merlin as he sends the knights away with a few placating words. Merlin shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. Arthur’s expression portends an argument, Merlin does not need his powers to tell him that.

The Council Meeting finishes soon after, but Merlin wishes it could have gone on forever. He knows he will have to face Arthur now, and the last few minutes have done nothing to calm his anger.

Merlin and Arthur stay in the room as the rest of the advisors drift out, some seemingly oblivious, others casting glances over their shoulders at Arthur pacing at the head of the table, and Merlin sitting like a schoolboy caught cheating.

After the door closes with a muted thud, Arthur commences berating Merlin, his voice a barely controlled shout.

“What were you thinking, disappearing from Bors and Caradoc without an explanation? They do not trust you, and you must be trusted by my knights for me to be trusted! Have you know thoughts beyond your next incantation? Have you even paused to consider the situation we are all in, here? Everything is precarious in this moment, everything, and yet you do nothing in my aid.”

Arthur pauses, as if expecting a response, but Merlin has been the subject of too many of Arthur’s rants to make the mistake of speaking, now. 

“To be late and inattentive at your first meeting of the Council? Do you know the dishonor you do me? I need us to be seen as a united front, with you following me. How else can I expect the people of Camelot to accept the return of magic?

“Because it is not going smoothly, you must be aware of that. It has been too long, and people’s habits have changed. They have only seen the bad affects of magic for the last thirty years, even if some still practiced it in secret.”

Breathing heavily, Arthur stops. He has shouted himself out and without a further word, turns on his heel and stalks out of the room. After the door has slammed shut behind him, Merlin takes a few shaky breaths. He feels like a child again, and he resents Arthur for castigating him, even as he understands that he is right. Besides the fact that as King, Arthur must be right, it is true that Merlin has been taking his duties lightly.

In his own defense, Merlin thinks to himself, he doesn’t know anything about politics. But he shouldn’t expect Arthur to lead him around by the hand, he isn’t actually a child, and he hasn’t been, not for a long time.

Merlin wishes he could talk to Gaius about this, have the old man’s rational, but affectionate, advice once more. Even the Dragon would be acceptable. Its unsubtle prompting about Destiny would at least remind him of his purpose, even if it wouldn’t actually be comforting. But the Dragon is gone as well, now, and he doesn’t know how to contact it.

Then again, that seems to be the price to pay for being grown up: there are fewer people to turn to. Gwen, however, is still here.

Merlin leaves the council room, suddenly desperate to talk to his old friend. Probably, as Arthur’s wife, he shouldn’t go to her to complain about him, but he trusts that she will understand that he just needs someone to tell him that he can do this.

Merlin clatters down the steps into the courtyard, looking around at the bustle that fills it. The only thing that is the same as the last time he was here is the bright sun that beats down. He’s seen so many executions here that the memory of his own trial is not particularly striking. Anyway, he likes to think he’s over that. Well, as over a near-death experience as anyone can get.

Gwen is across the way; he can pick out the bright colors of her dress. She is greeting a knight who appears to have just arrived. As Merlin weaves through the crowd, he sees that the knight in question is Lancelot.

Upon realizing this, he abruptly swerves to the side, away from the couple, almost sending a woman carrying a large basket sprawling. Apologizing profusely, Merlin hastily rights her before moving to a less crowded spot beneath a wall.

Leaning back against the sun-warmed stone, Merlin attempts to calm his furiously beating heart. Gwen and Lancelot. Is it happening already? This early in Arthur’s reign? He’s not sure, he gets so confused. The gift of seeing the future does not come as naturally to him as it did Morgana. He tells himself firmly that the future changes all the time with the choices that are made, even though his own visions are startlingly correct.

Opening eyes that he wasn’t aware of having closed, Merlin is temporarily blinded by the bright midday sun. After blinking to clear his sight, Merlin is arrested by the force of Arthur’s inspection of him. He feels it like a physical presence. Arthur is standing above the courtyard on his favorite rampart and Merlin wonders what he thinks of Gwen and Lancelot, if he even suspects anything.

From the way that Arthur is fixated on him, Merlin doubts that he notices them at all, and instead it is clear that Arthur is thinking of another time the two of them were in similar positions. Merlin swallows, and he remembers not being afraid of dying, but for Arthur.

_The guards hauling Merlin to the stake take no care to be gentle. Merlin is weak and burdened by many chains and he stumbles often. The summer sun beats down upon the courtyard mercilessly and the watching crowd sweats. The pyre has been prepared in the middle of the square with dry wood and straw. There will be no smoke from this fire to render him unconscious before he can feel the pain of being burnt alive._

_Arthur stands with Uther overlooking the scene, a sick expression on his face. Uther is stern and unmoving as usual. Morgana is conspicuously absent. Merlin looks up briefly, resigned. He doesn’t see how they can be reconciled at this point. There have been too many betrayals on both sides. He doesn’t blame Arthur, not really._

_There is a muttering in the crowd as he passes, all the people he’s come to know in his short stay in Camelot, his fellow servants, his friends. Gwen, tears streaming down her face, catches his eye. He tries to smile reassuringly at her, but he thinks the result is probably nowhere close. Gaius, standing next to her, puts his hand on her shoulder. Merlin cannot bear the mixture of regret and self-blame he sees in Gaius’ face._

_“It’s okay,” Merlin starts to say, but one of the guards cuffs him hard enough to make him bite his tongue._

_The guards tie him to the stake so that he is looking up at Arthur and Uther. Merlin is standing awkwardly, shoulders pulled back due to the tightness of the bindings on his wrists, and his feet slipping on the rolling firewood below him._

_After the guards have stepped back, the executioner approaches bearing a lighted torch. Merlin thinks he can feel the heat radiating from it, even though he is still at least a yard away. The executioner pauses, waiting for Uther’s command._

_“Light it,” Uther calls, his voice resonating throughout the courtyard. “Sorcerer, you will pay for your treason.”_

_Merlin ignores Uther, whose eyes are trying to bore into him. Uther cannot hurt him. Instead, Merlin watches Arthur, who is pale and looks like he will be sick any moment. Merlin needs Arthur to know that he doesn’t blame him._

__Don't worry. __

_Merlin can’t always communicate through minds, but sometimes, just sometimes, when he needs it enough, he can tell someone else how he feels. Judging from the shock, which quickly melds into devastation on Arthur’s face, now is one of those times._

_The executioner sets the flame to twigs at the base of the pyre. The fire crackles loudly as the dry kindling is consumed. Merlin can feel the heat of it growing and his feet are quickly becoming uncomfortable._

_Closing his eyes, Merlin calms himself, breathing evenly in and out. He’s never done this before, but in this case he must, or die trying. He wonders that Uther didn’t anticipate that he would attempt to escape, but then again, Merlin knows his powers, and Uther doesn’t. Uther’s never had to deal with anyone as gifted as himself before._

_Just as the heat on his legs becomes unbearable, and Gwen begins sobbing loudly, Merlin gathers all his energy and disappears._


End file.
